


Running Scales Redux

by orphan_account



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Planet, Anal Fingering, Banter, Hand Jobs, InkyHeadcanons, Late Nights, M/M, Massage, Multi, OT4, Polyamory, Rough Oral Sex, Soft Kisses, Space Arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-06 21:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14066100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Headcanon courtesy of Inkyturtle! A lot of short, dirty ficlets.





	1. high highs to low lows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InkyTurtle (Melodistic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodistic/gifts).



> Here we go again! Warm ups based on [Inkyturtle](https://inkyturtle.tumblr.com/)'s super cute headcanons!

They had only been stranded here for a few days, but Don was pretty sure Leo had gone native.

His toes wriggled deeper into loose silt, disturbing the bottom of the swamp they’d found. The water was shockingly transparent, only clouding as fine flurries of sand lost hold, blood brown over his toes. Leo had said it was the color of his eyes.

Not in any sweet way. In that weird, immutable way Leo had. Only factual, because _he_ knew it to be true. Normally it drove Donnie up the wall, but this time, he’d just ducked his gaze away. Pulled up a patch of bank and parked his shell patiently, since Leo had taken an immediate interest in the other inhabitants of the swamp.

He tipped his head back, resting the knot of his mask on the edge of his carapace, and cast his eyes up. Huge fronds towered over their small glade, long wispy strands of moss hanging from crystalline branches, the ends dipped into the still pool. Clear like strands of floss, like everything on this crazy planet, the trees bowed under their weight. Earlier Don had confirmed: thin, temporary roots systems that dissolved when pulled from the water. The trees themselves were bigger than anything they still had on earth- Earth had moved beyond ferns forever ago. And the bark, the bark was very interesting. He had wondered-

A soft splash drew his gaze across the water. Leo stood, face bare. His mask lay crumpled and damp beside Don’s thigh. He would have looked vulnerable except for the watchfulness in his blue eyes. Even had he looked it, it would have been a lie. Unwavering focus on the teeming stir of life at his hips. The water cut him off at the waist, leaving his legs wobbling and distorted under the surface. Although easily thirty feet away, the clarity of the water allowed a green shadow under it’s surface.

The moss. It had to be. A filtration system, although Don wasn’t sure _how_. He’d tried to talk it out with Leo earlier, to give his more nebulous ideas real form, but Leo was distracted. Unintentional inattentiveness, but Don had still laid his ideas aside. Had chosen to give in to the warm, infrequent sun.

Leo had waded out further from the shore, where bigger shadows swam.

Then enough time had passed that the suns had begun to sink, and all trace of Leo’s path had been obliterated by tiny shelled ghosts crawling the floor. Clear, camouflaged for their exotic home. Clear like the bigger phantoms Leo hunted still, quick lean fish, with narrow bodies.

He still had yet to catch one but Don knew he would. Leo had decided to after all. His will was another immutable fact.

Don was sure enough in his brother that he’d taken a moment to twist some of the thin reeding growing along the bank into a rough, living net. It was firm enough Don hoped it would continue to grow like that, after he’d left. Maybe it would even be good enough to hold Leo’s catch. Although-

“We aren’t sure we can eat them.” Don said, voice pitched low, trying to make up for his earlier volubility. “And if we can, I doubt it’ll taste like sashimi.”

Leo looked up, flashing him a half-smile in acknowledgment before he turned his attention back to the unmoving water in front of him. Don hadn’t expected much else. Leo’s commitment to a challenge was absolute, even when it was just fish.

Silence settled across the serene scene before him after a moment. Leo, poised on the brink of motion. Evening light, just breaking through the tree line.

Leo’s hand darted for the water, clearing the surface cleanly. A gentle splash this time, the ripples too contained to reach Don. From here he could see the rhythmic rise and fall of Leo’s chest, could tell that he’d slipped into measured breathing, a meditative calm.

The satisfaction on his face told Donatello he had been successful before he saw Leo’s catch, pinched between big green fingers. A raindrop fish. Not the weirdest thing Don will have eaten.

“Enough for sashimi.” Donatello said. “Not much else.”

“I’ll catch more.” Leo assured him.

Don didn’t think to doubt him.

Carefully caught the squirming fish when Leo tossed each one to him, slipping it smoothly back into the water. Watched them nibble at their cage of reeds, noted the soft, regular flutter of their gills. Even this close, they were hard to see, well, clearly. When he looked back up, Leo had resettled, crouching, arms held stiff and ready.

Leo’s hand pierced the water.

He rose with another catch in hand. Now that he’d done it once, Donatello knew. He’d do it every time.

Feet cool, face warm, Donatello watched the suns set.

Leo waded steadily closer, feet treading a slow path back to the bank, moving the water in lazy ripples. He’d caught more than a few fish now, enough that Don had to keep a hand in the water, brushing their lively dinner back to their pen.

He was close enough now to have run out of prey, close enough that Don could feel the disturbed water brushing his calves, chilling him as it lapped at his skin. Leo moved through the water as though he was learning a kata for the first time, each step sure and planted. Tiny furrows of mud and silt trailed him like brown smoke.

Don watched him now, the only tide in a still swamp. Leo stepped close. Then stepped closer still, their legs brushing smoothly in the water. Close enough for Donnie to see the small wanting smile curving his lips.

“Kiss me.” Don asked. It was abrupt and Donatello felt his stomach tighten at his own request. Leo was only still for a second, his body swaying forward until he stood in the part of Donatello’s thighs, only the water separating them. He paused, millimeters from Don’s mouth. Smiled, again.

“ _Leo_." Don demanded, and Leo kissed him, fused their mouths together clumsily. His balance in the water wasn’t as steady as it had appeared, and Don held him with a hand to his shell. A moment, a kiss. It wasn’t enough.

Don had known it wouldn’t be.

Leo pulled away first and Don sighed at the space between them.

“We’ll lose our catch.” Leo told him patiently, and Don thought he might be right. Already the fish were exploiting the flaws in Donnie’s weave, threatening to escape. “I thought you were hungry. I can wait-”

“Kiss me, again.” Don said, hooking his legs around Leo, keeping him close. “Just that. Then we can-”

Leo’s mouth cut him off, an insistent press of mouth and beak. Leaned into him, planting his hands on the bank beside him and water rose against him, slapping at his calves. The tide, surging into his mouth. Don’s hands, wet, rose to his shoulders, his neck. Haloed as he was by the sun, even with his eyes wide open he could barely see his brother’s face.

Couldn’t have mistaken the surety of his mouth for anyone else. Intractable, even on unsteady footing. Calm, until he struck. It had taken Don longer than it probably should have to trust in Leonardo’s leadership.

He felt movement by his thigh, and Donatello pulled away hurriedly, looked down in time to see Leo’s hand guiding the back of a single, clever fish.

“I’ve got it.” Leo said, soft against his mouth.

“I know.” Don said.


	2. twice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a redux, so here's another Leo/Mikey/Raph set, but with different dynamics. The rating changes dramatically with this chapter, please note the tags.

They had been at this for a while. Too long, maybe.

Leo can tell Raph’s patience is wearing thin, lip curled and sweating, the strength in his thrusts real. Mikey seems oblivious to the threat brewing above him. Just keeps taking it, as Raphael pushes him harder, uses him up, shell dipping each time he thrusts into the loose pleasure of his brother’s mouth. Until tears stain his orange mask, breath run to ragged gasps. His eyes have been squeezed shut since Leo began using two fingers, mimicking the pace Raphael set.

Leo loves watching his baby brother like this- when he’s too far gone to finish what’s on his plate. Tonguing along Raph’s wet skin, sloppy and fast. Leo can feel himself peek free at the sensory memory of that mouth on himself.

He presses a concealing hand along his front, accidentally smearing lube along his spreading lower scutes. Has to take another breath at the unexpected sharpness of the sensation. His control is good, but Michelangelo has often bettered it without trying. Just watching him attempt to siphon some of Raphie’s endless energy has Leonardo’s hands distracted.

Too bad, it’s only wound Raphael up.

Leo slides his fingers free of Mikey’s body with slow, careful movements. His insides cling to the square joints of his knuckles, despite how long he’s been worked over, Leo patiently spreading him again and again. Raphael pulls his cock free of his brother’s slack mouth, and Leo watches him paint a shiny stripe of spit across freckles.

“ ‘S he ready?”

Leo doesn’t bother to look to Raphael’s impatient mien. Rubs softly at the joint of Mikey’s ankle for a pensive moment before grabbing the lube and pouring more across his fingers. He’s wet all over by now. His hands, his wrists, his plastron where he’d had to press himself back behind his shell. Raphael sighs aggressively.

That’s alright. With his brewing mood, a little extra lube can’t _hurt_.

Instead of watching Raphael thrust his endless frustration into their brother, Leo drops his head between smooth freckled thighs. Eases his focus a moment, looses himself scattering small kisses across soft skin. His lips brush just the base, making Mikey’s stiff prick twitch and Leo chases the motion. Follows it up, his hips jerking with each dropped kiss, and by the time Leo reaches his goal a small bead of pre-cum has welled to meet his tongue.

“Shit, Leo.”

His eyes drift up, along the plastron twisting on his sheets, and above to meet Raphael’s eyes. He loves it when they use _his_ bed, even when Raph snores, and none of them let him change the sheets before they pass out, a tired pile of shells. Likes waking to the warm tangle of their limbs, their sleepy smell.

Even when he has to burn twice as much incense before he can meditate in the morning.

From here, he can see the shiny underside of Michelangelo’s chin, as he swallows around the cock filling him. Chooses following through with the long motion of his own tongue, over answering.

“Maybe I should get you up here, instead.” Raph says.

“Maybe.” Leo says, letting his tongue pull with the word, liking the burbling, chirping noise it draws from Mike. Wonders what that sound _feels_ like. Good, he thinks, meeting Raph’s slit eyes. His shell aches with the fullness of holding himself back.“You could be a little more patient.”

Raph huffs, but Leo ignores him. Mikey’s been hard for so long, his wet cock pulled and squeezed as they took full advantage of the empty home. Desensitized and overstimulated, the head of him fat and florid against the scuffed plating of his chest. Beautiful. Leo leans down, his tongue narrowed to a tip, and traces a light line along a vein.

Presses a finger into him, and Mikey sobs around Raphael.

“Hurry up.” Raphael says, like he’s pissed.

He isn’t, so Leo ignores him. Mikey’s soft inside, his body shaking as it clenches and clenches where he’s pushed fullest. He lets Mikey’s body take it’s own pleasure for a moment, pressing his hand flush against the swell of his ass. The stub of his tail wags against his wrist.

“Leo.” Raphael asks again.

Leo pulls his finger free, and Mikey vocalizes the loss. His eyes blink open, like a man waking from a dream, before they steady and focus on Leo’s face.

“Don’t _stop_ -” He says, before Raphael pushes back into his mouth with grunt. Leo rolls his eyes.

Presses against his puffy, swollen opening with two fingers, and Mikey lavishes his love for Leo’s firm leadership on Raphael. Raphael, who’s had to brace one hand against the wall, his hips thrusting, quick, unsteady. His whole body is tight with tension, and Leo frowns.

“Don’t cum.”

Raphael turns, a dull flush flooding his cheeks, mouth opening in surprise. His eyes cut almost immediately back down to where Michelangelo is wet-eyed, hollow-cheeked, before they meet Leo’s challenge.

“I wasn’t gonna.” He says, and Mikey pulls off to laugh.

“Yeah, you were.”

Leo lets his head drop, his mouth a quick reward. Sets off a chain reaction, Mikey gasping a sigh, and Raphael using the chance to mute him. A double-edged sword, judging by the look of hopeless concentration building on his stubborn face.

Maybe they had been at this _too_ long.

“He’s ready.” Leo decides.

“Finally." Raphael says, the closest he’ll come to relief. Mikey, mouth his own for the moment, laughs.

Leonardo takes his fingers back quickly, and Mike inhales. Raphael, more confident in his movements now that he’s finally been given the go ahead, chucks Mike under the chin on the dismount. His cock swings between his legs as he moves to the foot of Leo's bed. Leonardo is up already, rolling off the bed onto his feet and crossing to the head. He's as eager as they are, back braced against the wall, in time for Raphael roll Mikey into their laps.

This isn’t the first time they’ve done this.

Mikey’s request normally, though he didn’t really _ask_. Just sort of wrapped them into his orbit, around his fingers, down the hall and into a bed. This time, his job had been made easier for them being the only three in the lair. Leo’s hand goes to his head, his cheek, guiding him forward.

He drops almost immediately, unable to resist the proximity of that wet tired mouth so close to the need in his shell. Mikey just smiles up at him, sweet and for the moment, satisfied. Purses his lips in a kiss.

Raph doesn’t hesitate at all.

Trusts Leo to have ensured the ease of his pleasure, and Mikey’s mouth widens instead to a soft expression of shock as Raph thrusts into him. They’re all warmed up, like they’re done sparring, about to head topside. Loose and ready.

Violent.

The result is Raphael taking into the soft body below him like a machine. Mikey’s hands fly to Leonardo for support and Leo steadies him, locking his own hands along his forearms. Mikey’s body shakes with force of impact, and he wails, too loud, even with the lair empty. It makes Raph growl, his hands going for purchase along the soft creases of his hip and thigh, the curve of his ass, dragging Mikey back onto him in time to his thrusts.

“Le-leo.” Mikey says, cries, making Leo smile as he guides his brother’s open, distraught mouth onto his cock.

Poor Donatello, stuck on Master Splinter’s trip to scavenge the city dump.

He’d really drawn the short straw this time.


	3. here with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bit stopped being a warm-up at some point. Title from Mura Masa. One bit to go of the old stuff.

Leo sensed him before his shadow crossed the foot of his bed. Didn’t look up, just turned a page of the well-loved novel he held in his hands. When your library was the New York Sanitation Department, dog-eared pages were the least of your worries. He’d made it almost to the top of the opposite page before Donnie took a breath to speak.

“What’s up, Don?” Leo asked, and Donnie hissed the air back out in a sigh, whistling his annoyance through the gap in his teeth. “You’re hovering.”

Donatello didn‘t answer immediately, just shifted back onto his heels, shadow bobbing across unread words. Leo closed his eyes for a long second, resting. Master Splinter was an earlier and earlier riser; patrol ran later and later into the night. His body still rang with the echoes of his daily exertions. He was tired.

“I can’t sleep.” Donatello stated, his words precise in his agitation. Leo could feel his reluctance now, his discomfort. He lowered his book to his lap.

“You want me to put you to bed?” Leo asked, his voice warm enough. Don flushed. Nodded, and Leo felt a gentle anticipation heat him from within. He had enough left of himself for this.

Maybe he needed it tonight as much as Donatello did.

Noted the number on his page, and tucked the book beside him, before holding open his arms to his brother. Welcomed Don’s sheepish expression and uncertain limbs. Let his own arms fold around him like an embrace, pulling him closer. Don settled, the hard bend of his shell flat to Leo’s plastron, tucking softly into his natural curvature. Some base part of him liked this position, but Leo tried to let those thoughts sink. Don was too tense, too tired.

They both were but unlike Leo’s body which hung from him like a well-run dog, Don’s body was huddled up to his ears, tight and creased from long hours hung on an office. Their skin was still separated by his sheets, the thin cotton weave of his blanket, but Leonardo could feel his brother’s restless warmth just the same. Soft heat everywhere they touched, except for the insistent press of Don’s shell against his chest.

His hands sought Donatello’s skin, sunk into the energy surrounding him. Don took an unsteady breath when he made contact; Leo had done this often enough now that his hands didn’t stutter. Didn’t pull away. Just deepened contact, pressed heavy fingers into the swollen strength of his muscle. Pretended not to notice the anxious way Donatello fidgeted at the attention. He must have been up since last night, Leo guessed, maybe longer.

“When did you last sleep?” Leo asked. Thoughtless. It was the wrong thing to say, but he never seemed to catch himself when he needed to. Don tightened under his hands, neck cording as his head turned.

“I don’t know.” Don said. He was sulking now, defensive. Leo chanced a small kiss to the back of his neck, the triangular patch of his skin framed between his thumbs and forefingers. Anticipation rode him, sharpened every time Donatello shifted and their plating scraped in the quiet room. It was uncomfortably erotic to Leo, and he swallowed. Tried to keep his arms from holding stiff, a cage around his brother.

Through practiced force of will, Leo kept his touches steady, his words to himself. Stroked the tension from Don’s shoulders, until he could slide his hands down the length of his arms. Slow, only moving on as Donatello relaxed. His breathing was even now, eyes closed, vulnerable without his mask. Since he was so damn long, Leo bent his arm at the elbow and started at the ends of him. Spreading and stretching each digit, their fingers twining as he flexed his brother’s sore, smart hands. His concentration was steady as he smoothed the pulse point in his wrist, tested the soft silk of his inner arms. Straightened his elbow, and continued until he hit shell.

“Jeez, Leo.” Don said as Leo switched to his other arm without pausing. Started again at the three blunt ends of his fingers, stretching and pulling, working the tight joints over. “Can’t you just skip to my neck?”

“No.” Leo said mildly. Waited for Donatello to stiffen. “I can spend twice as long when I get there, if you want.”

“Hng.” Don mumbled, and sagged back against Leo, as though the promise of continued attention was enough to cut his strings completely. “ ‘Kay.”

Gave up and let his fingers trace hard lines in Don’s olive skin- even, wanting pressure. A dragging palm up his neck, to cup the fragile egg of his skull, weighty from the heavy thoughts he spent all day carrying. He tilted his head back, guiding him and was rewarded by the loosing of Don’s posture, the long rough scrape as his shell slid down Leo’s front. Leo’s hands tightened momentarily on his collar at the feeling, thumbs digging into the muscle along his neck.

Released.

Don moaned, mouth closed, a deep sound held in his throat. It was more unconscious than not, as close to REM as he seemed to be. Leo let his sleepy shell overlay him, letting the friction of his touch melt him.

Tried not to sink into it himself.

It was undeniably sensual, the patterned movement of his hands, a meditation on skin and touch. Leo’s breath had deepened to match his movements, and Don followed his example, chest rising and falling. It was hard to keep his touches from roaming, seeking solace in the soft places he knew would draw sighs from that beak, instead of snores.

Instead, Leonardo relieved Don’s stress as best he could, until his brother was completely limp against him. His breathing, thick and steady, didn’t even change when Leo began to slow his hands, gentle his movements. Donatello only stirred as he was reaching for his book, wedged half under his shell, half under his-

“Why did you stop?” Don asked, and Leo looked down at him, startled. Unmasked eyes, deep brown in the darkened room stared back at him. His brother was warm to the touch, a comfortable heater, a soft weight. “I’ve gotta cum, Leo, I’m sorry. I can’t seem to sleep at all-”

He sounded faintly apologetic.

Leo had to swallow before he could touch his brother again.

When Leo’s hands met him this time they chased skin, hungry and possessive. His palms spanned the soft wrinkle of Don’s bared knees, stroked the sensitive skin of his collarbone, just before it became his plastron. Leo’s thumbs rose up to span his jaw and painted firm lines of sensation into him. The act was something of a knowing for him, a distinct satisfaction different than the spiritual meeting of their minds, the clash of their eyes in battle- something tactile.

A love Leonardo could hold in his hands.

Soon Don was sprawled against him as though Leo was another layer to the bedding, eyes half-closed with pleasure, pressed so close Leo had no choice but to cradle him. His attentions dropped over his lax shoulders, the pads of his fingers following his newly freed interest. Down the more sensitive plating of Donnie’s plastron, his fingers playing over the lines in his chest plate, the soft perforations along his sides.

Embarrassingly, his wanting hands were an unreliable guide to Don’s pleasure, intent on fulfilling his own. Leo listened for the unsteady whistle of his breath instead, soft and rhythmic. Waited until it caught in his throat, and then repeated his motions. Don fought to keep still now, only pressing into the touch when he had to, when Leo’s fingers found the soft crease of skin at his hip and rubbed. Fighting sleep the way only genius could, and his quiet struggle made Leo smile, hidden.

Made him press hard with the flat of his palms into the tense muscle of Don’s inner thighs until Don spread those long legs for him, wordlessly. Kept pressing, until they inched a little wider across his sheets. Until the tip of his forefinger could trace the soft, wet seam of Don’s tail.

His brother’s breathing had become full again, heavy, restful respiration. Leo might have believed him asleep, excepting the head of his cock rising to his questing touch. Leo stilled for a moment, a heartbeat, then let the flat bend of his fingers slip, slick and teasing.

Don gasped, twisting like he’d been woken.

“Leo-”

“Drop for me.” Leo asked, mouth pressed close enough to brush skin. He could feel Don’s pulse raising, blood trapped and beating under the wet skin of his cock.

“Shit.” Don whispered.

Sighed, when he began to peek free.

He was calm, almost relaxed as he let Leo stroke him through the steady swelling of his wet, purpled cock. Don’s speeding heart slowing as his body settled into the building arousal. Leo readjusted his grip, dipping his impolite fingers into the slick space inside his tail, dragging clear strands of slippery moisture. When Leo encircled the swollen head of him in a smooth upward motion, Don gasped.

“Just fuck me.” Don said, his voice breathless, surprisingly even for all that he sounded like he was negotiating. _Demanding_. “Just _please_ fuck me, and then-”

“Shh.” Leo said, and it gave him a deep satisfaction when Don shushed easily, swallowing his noises to the back of his throat, focusing reddened eyes between his legs. He trailed a wet fingertip up the twitching length. “I’ll fuck you twice as long tomorrow.”

Don spasmed, rumpling the tidy spread of his blankets.

“ _Darwin_.” Don said faintly, and Leo pressed a laugh into his neck. Pulled his hand away to massage the lean length of his thighs again, warming him. “Leo, come on.”

His own tail stiffened with excitement as he trailed a single fingertip up the underside of Donatello’s cock. His brother shook for him, and the reaction caused by a single touch whet his focus.

Don was ready for the slick hand on his cock but he wasn’t expecting the strength in Leo’s grip. He took in a shuddering breath, and his legs spread all the way, hips canting to offer up his tail. Felt the last of his carried tension fall away.

Leo grinned. Donnie had sunk back against his brother’s chest as Leo’s hand began a quick rhythm between his suddenly trembling legs. The sweet slide of his own lubrication on his hot, sensitive skin sat ill at odds with the harsh pace Leo’s hand had set. And although he could rationalize it, Donatello couldn’t stop his body’s reaction. His skin flushed, beginning to sweat. Mouth dry when he swallowed.

Stomach tightening like it did before a fight, and the feeling punched a soft sound from him.

“Too much?” Leo asked, hushed against that soft skin at the nape of his neck, lips pressed just before his spine fused to his shell. The oversensitivity he’d felt at first had left, leaving Donnie stranded closer to orgasm than he’d realized. Too close- every time Leonardo repositioned his hand that squeezing, wet grip made him jerk. Don could feel the rough drag of those fingerprints on his brain, stamped there through his skin. His eyes were closed, already out of it.

Exhaustion: a terrible drug.

“No.” He said, his orgasm, the blissful reboot of his brain finally within sight. “Keep going. Please, let me- _Leo_ - _please_ -I need-”

“I will.” Leo hushed, the promise ghosted across his skin, and Don sucked in a breath to silence the shallow race of his breath. As often as he let his body get the better of his mind, tonight had been bad. And any night, he feared failure, feared true rest he found himself in Leo’s doorway. Never could seem to catch himself.

Donnie reached back, wrapping a hand along his neck, and Leo churred for him, a needing sound breaking loud around them. Held him tight as he shook apart, jerking with the force of his pleasure. Held him tight as he jerked wetly over his palms. Until Don laid heavily upon him, spent.

_Sleepy._

His breath evened out, lengthening in his chest and Leo could feel his own breathing deepen to match. The slowest rocking of his shell, and Don was asleep before he realized, the deep wheezing snores of someone who waited too long to take their rest. His full weight was a cherished thing across Leo’s chest.

It took a bit of maneuvering, but Leo managed to fish his book out from between the bed and the wall. Don slumbered through it, his eyes unwilling to open now that he’d let them close.

And if his fingers were a little damp still, on the pages- it would hardly be the worst thing it had seen.

He’d found it in the sewer.


End file.
